Catching The Monster
by EbonyIvoryy
Summary: A series of Papa!Hoho and Little!Edo one-shots. ***Teenage!Edo and some Alphonse shall be included later.*** Mostly manga-verse; little bits from the first-series. T for language and paranoia.
1. February 3, 1889

**Brief Summary: **Hohenheim learns something new with the birth of his first son.

**Disclaimer: **FullMetal Alchemist belongs to the cow. And I thank her for such an amazing adventure.

**A/N: **I, thus far, have been writing countless Hohenheim muses. I recognize him to be one of the most essential characters in FMA, as well as one of the most intriguing. However, I must give most of the credit to my dear fanfic buddy Cookie~ (AnimeCookie93 / _I effin' love you honeyyy! -pounces-_) She gave me the idea to create a series of Papa!Hoho and Little!Edo one-shots.

Despite the fact that Ed has grown to hold a grudge and limitless hatred toward his father, I _know_ for a fact that he still wants nothing than to be unconditionally loved by a father figure. One of the things that I adored about how Arakawa concluded the series, was that she resolved the conflict between Ed and Hohenheim. The fact that the young man let his soft side come out as he looked to Hohenheim with tears in his eyes and finally called him "dad" put me to awe. Even if he _did_ include the words "shitty-excuse-for-a-father" in the bunch. XD

Obviously, Arakawa is really big on family. I think that's what makes her the mangaka she is. I wish her luck with works in the future! -heart-

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><p><strong><em>A Series of Papa!Hoho &amp; Little!Edo One-shots;<em>**

**_C _**_a t c h i n g **T **h e **M** o n s t e r_

_~u~_

For centuries he has lived, and yet why was it? You'd think that Van Hohenheim would be the wisest of them all; he's lived the lifetime of six generations, moreover. Be thou as it may, he still had so much to learn. On that single stormy night in Resembool, he came to realize he had not grown to his full potential. Hohenheim would think of life as a cycle. Everyone and everything dies — that's just the nature of things. And that was how he eased the pain. The unsparing, ruthless pain of watching the loved ones before him go seven feet under.

Hohenheim's hand was moist the sweat that his wife burdened upon him as she squeezed her digits around his. It was so foreign to see Trisha suffering like this; she was always the kind peach-lipped woman with a smile on her features. But tonight, her eyebrows were pushed together in antagonizing concentration, which created a road of veins on her forehead. Every once in a while she was belt out a scream, but most of the time she sucked it in, biting on her lower lip and tensing her muscles.

When the stress boiled up at the point it became too much in the room, Pinako (their chosen midwife) hollered at Van to leave the room or he was suffer some serious trauma to the head with her trusty opium pipe. Even though her son and his wife were certified doctors, they didn't lead the birth of Hohenheim and Trisha's first child.

Pinako's son — Urey — was indeed there, but he mostly just handed medical supplies to his mother as she belted screams at him with a menopause he truly feared ever since she hit her early-fifties. His wife — Sara — was only months from her due date concerning _their_ first child; this was why she had no participation in Trisha's labor. For the past six months, Sara insisted she help with Doctor's work and surgeries... Though she was impossibly stubborn when her husband had to rip her away from the surgical bed. Then, he had to tell her time and time again to rest. _God_, she hated feeling useless and... Pregnant. She was carrying a child, so what? She was just as skilled and had enough energy as any doctor in Amestris!

"Mom is already pissed, honey! You _have_ to sit down and stay out of the child birth or she'll get even angrier!" Urey insisted while Pinako threatened Hohenheim in the background.

He pushed the seven-month-prego blonde woman out the door and down the hall before his mother would spot her. And _boy_, was she heavy! Ten pounds heavier with a watermelon for a stomach, Sara ignorantly crossed her arms against her chest and kept her purple-slippered feet from moving as he literally had to _drag_ her across the Elric household.

"I'm just as much Trisha's friend as you are! How come _you_ get to help her in labor and _I_ don't?" Protested Sara.

The blond man spoke through his teeth as he had to use all his muscles to push the mighty woman across a wooden floor, "I-promise-you'll-get-to-participate-in-their-next-baby's-birth! You're on bed rest! Now go rest in the damn bed!"

"We don't know if they'll have another baby! Stop pushing me, Urey!" She pounded her opened palms against his broad chest so she could try and escape.

"Most couples do! And when that happens, you can, but you're _pregnant_ and unfit to make surgical decisions!" He grabbed hold of her hardened bubble tummy and tried to restrain her, but it was no use. She was blinded by raging hormones and hated to be unproductive.

"Will you two _SHUT UP?_" Pinako shouted from inside the inner room, followed by a cry from poor laboring Trisha. "UREY! Get the hell in here, boy!"

"But, mo-"

"_NOW!_"

In the blink of an eye, Urey scattered into the room in a cowardly fashion, while Van hustled _out_ of the room in fear that he would be beaten to a pulp by the old woman's mere glare. Mister Hohenheim shot Mister Rockbell a 'good luck' with the mouthing of his lips. Mister Rockbell gulped, adam's apple bobbing, and mustered every ounce of courage to charge into the chaotic labor room.

"S-Sara," the golden-eyed alchemist recognized her, trying to get himself calm from the previous moments. She was ready to march back in the room tenaciously, but before she think a thought, her body was gently thrown to the reclining couch.

"Hmm?" Her blue orbs glanced around in confusion. In front of her, Hohenheim held a small smile as he lifted the frame of his glasses — the lens glaring due to the house's light. He had one hand in the pocket of his brown trousers, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's best you relax, Sara. Besides, my wife is strong; I trust Pinako as her caretaker." He told the wavy-haired doctor with the same crooked smile and laid back tone of voice.

Granted, Sara always knew there was something odd about the man whom has looked the same ever since she first met him (it was the same time she met Urey, around her teenage years). His movements and notions were mysterious, but his appearance was even more questionable. They all knew Hohenheim was different than most mortals. Pinako, Urey, and even his own lover Trisha. But they never asked him. Pinako may have known the man's back-story, but she never once spoke of it to her son, nor her daughter-in-law. The strangest thing? Whenever Sara opened up a family album that was dated all the way back to when Pinako was a little girl, Hohenheim was included in some of the pictures. In every single one, he looked the same. Never aged. There he stood, next to the tall brunette woman (who still smoked from her opium pipe) in brown and white printed ink, looking exactly as he had for years.

For once, Mrs. Rockbell calmed down and slumped to the plush cushion, nodding with an astral stare.

Minutes after minutes ticked by. Hohenheim looked out the living room window with a nervous honey gaze. Outside was just as much chaos as inside. Eighty-mile-per-hour winds raged through Resembool's grassy planes, though none of it was visible since it was pitch black out in the middle of the night. The most ominous of clouds gathered in the skies. The breeze was so harsh that it could be heard shaking the walls of the house and tearing the shingles on the roof. It was frightening... The building sounded as if it was going to collapse. Lights would flicker on and off. The electricity supply was unstable. There was even a moment where the lights all flickered off, where yet another cry and weep was heard from the woman in her birthing bed. It was eventually light again.

Fortunately, the doctors' Rockbell had arrived there before the weather brewed up. Hohenheim even felt a little surprised when he spotted a few flakes of snow trickle down from the outrageous eye of the storm. One piece of white dust magically pranced onto the condensation of the window; only a centimeter from Hohenheim's nose. In all the years settling down in this small farming town, he had only seen snow _once_ before this. That was a sensation itself.

When all hope was lost, a pair of footsteps finally entered the area. Hohenheim turned his head, only to notice the blond male doctor with a long upward curl of his lips. He seemed exhausted, but still resilient. His apron was stained with a salty red substance, as was his gloves. Accept, his wardrobe was no where as bloody as his mom's.

He spoke with a soft, low voice. "Would you like to see your first-born son, Hohenheim?"

The Xerxes-blooded man's jaw dropped in harmony with his stomach. It was a boy! A son! _His_ son.

Quickly, he jolted upward and headed down the hall, toward the door to heaven. Meanwhile, Urey helped his wife up so they could follow him into the room to watch the sight of all married couple's dreams.

Pinako Rockbell was now a grandmother. Sure, this wasn't her _blood_ grandchild, and she had to wait a few months for that time's arrival, but Hohenheim was like her own kin... With that, she was sure to help in the raising of this beautiful infant boy, who already had a full head of gorgeous sunny hair... So God-like, resembling Hohenheim's locks of gold. Even with blood and guts fused to the child's scalp.

Hohenheim entered the room with slow, almost epic motions. He said nothing as his drinking buddy turned to him, her beady eyes showing nothing but emotion. Still, she had some kind of spunk, hiding the soft side to her. A smirk lit up on her face. She was bundling some kind of squirming object with a cotton blanket. The object let out a high-pitched cry, and from a distance, he could see a small chubby hand raise into the air.

"I still need to cut the umbilical cord. Thought I'd save the job for you," Pinako claimed, pointing to tiny metal scissors on a small table.

He couldn't help but tremble with a growing smile and took a few steps toward her. He wasn't sure what to expect... The immortal man was still scared. The mother was much too exhausted on the bed, panting with a cold compress set over her eyes. She couldn't identify if the baby was out or not... All reality seemed altered and uncertain.

Nothing could explain the feeling he felt. The throbbing of his heart as Hohenheim looked into his offspring's closed, puffy eyes. He then snipped the slimy umbilical cord with a steady hand. Once the job was accomplished, Pinako gently handed the baby boy over to his father. Hohenheim had never been so careful with an object until cradling his son that stormy night. He didn't want to hurt such a delicate being...

"My baby..." Trisha murmured, quickly catching the attention of the two adults at her bedside. "It's a boy...? Where is he... Where is he..."

"Hold on, dear," eased Pinako. "I must clean him first. Here..."

Hohenheim bobbed his head and reluctantly handed the child to Pinako, then sprinted to his wife's side.

"You were amazing, honey..." He trailed a hand down her moist, heated cheek kissing the side of her chestnut-haired head with as much softness as he carried his own child. He stayed in that position, holding his dear Trisha Elric in a comforting embrace and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. "You did wonderfully... He is healthy... You were wonderful..."

She was too out of it to respond with anything more than a faint smile. Trisha wanted to see her baby... She wanted to see how hours of child labor had payed off.

All the while, the elder mechanic trotted her tiny legs to a portable sink and bucket that she had made herself, along with the weeping infant in her arms. She washed him up (every ounce of blood and guts), making him fresh and new like a plush stuffed animal.

Sweeping back to the parents, she couldn't be more silent as she gave him back to Hohenheim. The alchemist looked down at his only son with watery eyes, but swallowed back every form of emotion out of sheepishness. Trisha brought her arms out weakly, her eyelids half-open as she requested for the child.

He looked to her as if to say, 'of course', and watched as she took the calmed baby into her grasp. Unlike him, Trisha allowed her eyes to flood mutably — taking in every crease and feature of her son's face. "He's beautiful..."

She glanced back to Van. In that sight alone, Trisha lightly gasped at the moisture forming within the whites of his compassionate eyes. A giggle was expressed through her angelic smile once again. "Silly man! It's okay to cry."

Pinako examined the family of three from a distance. She was smiling, as was her son and daughter-in-law standing behind her at the doorway. Sara had her head on Urey's shoulder, as he used one hand to cradle the surface of her seven-month stomach, the other one wrapped around her waist. He whispered lovely things into her ear as well, making the moment oh-so-emotional since they knew that happy family of three would be them in the matter of months.

The puny woman (getting punier with old age) turned to them, unable to wipe the down-to-earth smile from her face, and motioned for them to exit the room so they could leave the happy couple and their son be. Pinako led the way, but just before the two doctors followed, Sara could've sworn she felt a series of joyful kicking within her stomach. Their future daughter — still a fetus — already seemed to know the little Elric.

"Edward," said Trisha bleakly and out of nowhere.

Van quirked an eyebrow, as if he hadn't heard her right. "Edward?"

"Yes, I've always loved that name... We've discussed it, remember?" She looked to him, brightening up with that peach-lipped smile once again.

It took a moment, but Hohenheim finally responded with a, "Then Edward Elric it shall be..." Besides, Edward Hohenheim didn't sound as catchy.

_**F i n**_


	2. February 20, 1889

**Brief Summary: **Baby Eddie won't stop crying, so good 'ol Hohenheim tries to comfort him. However, it is much easier said than done...

**Disclaimer: **Queen Cow of Hokkaido owns the rights. I make her rice in return. ^3^

**A/N: **Second update of this father son series~! Yeah, I know, fast update! I usually procrastinate and wait for weeks, months... But being that I'm on Spring Break, I have tons of time to spare. C: I decided on some comic relief todee. I digress, me trying to write each fic in order of timely events; from Ed's birth, to his life as an infant, to the introduction of his brother, etc... Another thing I would like to note! Do any of you wonder why I titled this _'Catching the Monster'_? Well you all soon shall find out a few chapters ahead!

I admit that I do not have much to say this time around. So read and recline! Buh-Bye! ;3

* * *

><p><strong><em>A Series of Papa!Hoho &amp; Little!Edo One-shots;<em>**

**_C _**_a t c h i n g **T **h e **M** o n s t e r_

_~u~_

The cloudless nights in Resembool of Amestris were calm. So calm, it was impossible for city-dwellers to sleep with such lack of noise. Tourists from Central (not that there were many) felt so intimidated b_y _the wide open sky, with its milky-way of stars. The smallest chirp of a cricket caused them to leap from their beds and stress that some wild animal was after them. Why was such peace so foreign and... Frightening?

When you have a two-week-old baby in the house, however, it was like living in the bustling town of Rush Valley. Each weep from its gummy mouth clawed at one's eardrums. It was five times worse than any obnoxious drunk fellow hollering in Central's streets, or dump trunk beeping and crashing with trashcans before the break of dawn.

Night after night, after night, after night, twenty-one-year-old Trisha slumped up from her mattress, shoved her feet into the openings of some itchy violet slippers, and sluggishly dragged her feet down the wooden-floor hall, into the room of a crib where the screeching baby resided. She wouldn't be back at her husband's bedside until sunrise, in which he would wake up to find her in the kitchen, already cooking breakfast with zero sleep and dark circles beneath her eyes to prove it. He would sigh, scratch the back of his ferociously honey head, and insist that she get more rest.

Like always, Trisha would smile through her heavy eyelids, claiming to Hohenheim that she was just fine and energetic as ever. Even with those imprinted crows feet surrounding her lifeless eyes, she still managed to look gorgeous and surpass human desires. She was going to make sure of her son's well-being before her own, truthfully.

"Fine-and-energetic-as-ever?" Urey repeated those words in bewilderment after Hohenheim had told him the story. Obviously, the new father was seeking out advice.

The two men usually spent their days out in the fields, working on projects or helping farmers with crops. Meanwhile, Trisha would stay at home attending to little Edward, while Sara was recently put on bed rest — so close to her due date in pregnancy. And since Urey really hasn't been doing much medical work ever since the miracle in his wife's tummy began to grow, he has been doing manual labor with Hohenheim while they chatted up their lives like two sociable women.

This time, they were building a tree-house down the road from the Rockbell estate. There were no actual trees surrounding the yellow house, so they found the closest potential area for their future children to play around.

The doctor pondered for a moment in the middle of their conversation, scratching his peach-fuzzed chin (he shaved often, unlike Mister Ho). Suddenly he snickered lowly, pausing to drop his hammer and lean against the plank of wood on his lap. "That's... Not good," was all he managed to say in-between chuckles.

Hohenheim's shapely eyebrows knitted together in worry. "Not good?" His elbows rested on some wood as well.

"Oh, jeez!" He belted out a few last deep chuckles before face-palming himself in the forehead. "I truly feel sympathetic for ya, Hohenheim. Don't be offended, but you're truly clueless if you actually _believed _her! _Aha!_"

The man across from him stayed silent, a little analytical as to what he was going on about.

After a moment, Urey lifted his face from his gloved hand and explained with the mirth still apparent in his voice and facial expression, "Do you know what women mean when they say they're alright? They're _not_ alright. She was probably hoping that you'd catch on when she said 'fine-and-energetic-as-ever', as in you'd automatically run to her aid despite her reassurance. She's probably _fuming_ over the whole ordeal right now. Something like this occurred when I first dated Sara, and eventually caught on after a few hits to the head with a scalpel! _Ah-ha!_"

These words that flew from Urey's mouth had Van petrified. His mouth gaped open, eyes churning with post-nerve vomit. The last thing he wanted was an angry Trisha. It rarely ever happened, but when it did, it was truly scarring. The blue-orbed doctor noticed his reaction of horror, and immediately halted his laughter.

"Oh, er, y'now, Hohenheim! Don't get too worked up over it! I'm sure Trisha won't hit you with a scalpel!" he exclaimed, trying to put the other man at ease. When he knew he wasn't helping, he had to try a different excuse. "B-Besides... She isn't even the angry type of woman. I've known Trisha since we were kids, I-I'm sure she won't hold a grudge or anything... _Eh-heh_..."

"Y-Yeah..." Hohenheim swallowed and regained his sanity. Even so, what Urey said went through his mind until the end of the day, when he was heading back home with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers.

Maybe he did need to help a little more with their baby boy... He never hardly touched the infant since his birth, mostly because of one reason. That reason was stuffed at the back of his mind for now... Such a fear shouldn't be thought of when he was heading back to his family.

Later that night, a shriek echoed through the walls of the dainty Elric home. It repeated in a pattern, as it did every late-hour. With no complaints, Trisha began to sit up; that was her Que. Something startled her, though, when a large arm was held in front of her stomach to stop her from leaving. She didn't have time to gasp in fear, noticing that the arm belonged to Hohenheim in the matter of seconds.

"Dear? Is there something you need?" asked the lovely woman as she turned to him, adjusting her robe.

"Go back to sleep," he ordered softly, dressed in the same button-up cuffed sleeved white shirt he always wore, and some trousers that didn't seem to work right for pajamas. He wasn't one for sleeping-attire ever since the moment he turned into a Philosopher's Stone. His hair was even still up — only left down when in the shower.

Trisha looked at him in disbelief. "Sleep? Bu-"

"I'll go check on Edward," the man interrupted. His face softened with a smile, taking grasp of her light brunette head and easing his lips over the side of such supernal hair. "Stay here and rest while you can, okay?"

She seemed a little at shock, shaking her head up and down with a confused slowness. What made him want to assist in the baby's care so suddenly? Either way, he was trying to play his part as Daddy. She has already done enough as Mommy.

Hohenheim left the room, and with each step forward, little Eddie's exclaiming shutter became more voluminous. He twisted a door knob and entered with air-light footsteps.

"_EYYYYYAAAAHHHHHHHHH!_" weeped Edward, squirming his little arms into the skies. His tomato red lips stretched open to wail with all his might, turning his big plump baby head into a similar color.

The elder man's larynx bobbed. He knew what he was up for. He knew this wasn't going to be an easy task.

Suddenly, Edward felt a presence penetrate his threshold. An intimidating shadow was casted above him, causing his crying to decelerate (but still continue). He cracked two red and puffy eyes open, the figure above him putting the little munchkin to shock. Normally it was his kind-faced Mommy leaning over the crib... Not some big-bearded, broad-shouldered man that appeared self-conscious of his abilities.

Breathing in a shaky inhale of oxygen, Hohenheim faced his fear and did the unspeakable... He picked up his son. For just a tiny frame of time, Edward stopped crying all together out of confusion at this mysterious creature claimed to be his 'father'. He sniffled in little bits, his chubby, blue footsy-pajama legs dangling in the air as a pair of masculine hands held him by the sides.

Hair was never something the child lacked — from the very first day he left his mother's pregnant tomb, he came out with a full head of bright amber. During naps, the little strands on his head would angle out in different directions, while one tiny cowlick stuck straight upward.

Edward's wide, bug-eyed orbs of gold scanned his Daddy with innocent curiosity. The lens of Daddy's glasses were filled with glare from the light in the hallway, so this moment had an unidentified emotion. Was he angry? Melancholy? Disappointed? Mirthful? Proud? Little Eddie couldn't be sure, and that made his stomach uneasy.

Yet again, he burst into weeps. Each cry was like nails on a chalkboard, making it hard for Hohenheim to gain his confidence. The man cringed and gridded his teeth together, desperate to think of something — _anything_ — to stop Edward's ear-splitting tears. His lit eyebrows formed one uni-brow as they squeezed together in frustration. He twisted his head, looking out into the hallway and wondering if he had a chance to flee while he still could.

_'No,'_ he mentally commanded his joints. _'I'm doing this for Trisha!'_

Now let's see... How does Trisha resolve her son's crying? Would he have to act... _Motherly?  
><em>

"Shh-shh-shh-shh..." Van tried to comfort the weeping infant, carefully rocking him back and forth. That was as motherly as Van could get. If all else failed, he could always use this as a temporary distraction. Of course, the first attempt failed.

Edward continued. And continued. And continued. It was purely amazement how he could just cry, and cry, and cry; never drying out of tears. Hohenheim groaned lowly. He had to concoct another plan. Damn, if only he knew some nursery rhymes...

"_~The itsy-bitsy spider went up the_..."

On the first line of a tune he so-quietly sung, something flew into his mouth. It tasted like rubber...

"_Uck!_" the grown man spewed, backing five feet away with the baby boy still in his arms. Turns out, his son despised his singing so much, that he slung a red, used Binky between the man's chapped lips. The Binky fell to the floor with a tiny _plop_.

In the same second, Edward began to scream and weep his head off. Hohenheim sighed. He only made it worse!

Maybe he shouldn't sing. Or hum.

Just then, a spark clicked inside of his mind. Mouth... Binky... Food? Was Edward hungry?

"Hmmm.." his low voice escaped his throat as he carried Edward to the kitchen with quick leaping footsteps. What do babies eat?

Well, Edward couldn't eat much. He didn't have the teeth required. Nor did Hohenheim have boobs, so breast-feeding was out of the question. Opening the ice box, he noticed a pint of milk. Babies could drink regular milk, right? It wasn't going to hurt, right? Milk had calcium, protein, and Vitamin C... It _had_ to benefit Edward's health! ...Right...?

You can't blame him. He's studied the anatomy thoroughly, but had no clue what was and wasn't safe for infants to consume. Hey, he's an alchemist! Not a pediatrician!

Pouring the pint of milk into an empty bottle, Hohenheim gladly directed it to little Eddie's lips, one built arm cradling him stealthily. He exhaled in much relief when Eddie slackened his weeping to suck on the tip of the bottle.

"Oh, Lord..." Hohenheim let a shaky smile pull at his lips as he shut his eyes for a moment. "...I'm saved."

And what happened next? An opaque white liquid came splattering at Hohenheim's face and onto his tongue. The fluid was warm and sticky from already being in another mouth, widely putting poor Ho-ho in disgust.

"_Gurrrugh!_" he sounded, repeatedly hopping into the air since his glasses lenses were covered in vomited dairy — thus rendering him blind.

Meanwhile, little Eddie's face was scrunched up in vile at the nasty drink, which was still rimming his lips and lingering upon his taste buds. This foreign secretion of a cow they call 'Milk' was, from now on, his number one foe. He broke out in another set of tears, wailing his lungs out.

Not wanting to drop his son, Hohenheim had to find a quick way to clean his glasses and attend to the boy's needs. Hohenheim set him down on the counter, feeling his way around the dim kitchen for some kind of cloth. On a rack near the stove, was a miniature rag. He snatched it from its spot and took his glasses off, putting them under a close sink to get rid of the sticky texture. Rubbing his face with the off-white rag, he placed his glasses at the bridge of his nose and brought the rag with him to scrub off the milk around little Eddie's crimson lips.

Throwing the damp rag over his shoulder, he curled his arms around his son and brought him back to the bedroom. The little boy commenced crying even harder — shaking the thick walls of such a cozy home. What other strategy did Hohenheim have up his sleeve? He was running out of options.

"Maybe..." He thought aloud for a moment. "...You need your diaper changed? Is that it?"

Edward screeched as he pounded his little hands against Hohenheim's shoulders. Oh God. That was it.

Grimacing, Hohenheim set squirmy Eddie down on the tiny side bed used for diaper changing (positioned by the crib), glad a brought a rag with him. Eddie was set on his fare back. His father peered down at him before detaching the tabs of the white diaper and spreading it open for all of the baby's anatomy to see. A fowl stench crept its way up to Hohenheim's nostrils.

Eyes watery, he gasped and grunted, pinching his nose shut and taking a step back. What a smell! If only he had gloves...

Oh well. Grabbing a few baby wipes, Hohenheim wiped the mushy brown substance away, all the while turning his head and shuttering. The job was hurriedly finished; Edward being fitted with a fresh diaper. He kicked his plush legs in the air, the tears slowing, though he was still letting out faint weeps and gasps.

"What else do you need...?" Hohenheim stared down at him, frowning.

He picked Eddie up again and sat down on a rocking chair that he often found Trisha in, holding a sleeping figure in her arms. The wooden chair screeched in protest while Hohenheim settled in it. Staying as silent as could be, he rocked the little body back and forth... Back and forth... Back and forth... Back and forth...

The glare on his lenses became opaque. Hohenheim could pass for sleeping as well... He was live and awake, though. He wouldn't fall asleep with such precious life in his arms... Not when that precious life's own _father_ was a-... Monster. He would keep their contact brief. For his son's sake.

Then, he realized... Edward stopped crying. No more weeps or gasps escaped his lips... No more fluids flooded from his eyes... In fact, he became mute nearly an hour ago, when sleep won over his adolescent mind and his eyelids began to clasp together...

Such a delightful sight. The infant's hair — blond and angelic as it shun in the moonlight peering through the window... His skin so reflective and bright, like a mermaid's shimmering scales. He was surely Hohenheim's offspring, but had a piece of Trisha that the man couldn't quite grasp... A sense of peace.

A body appeared in the doorway. There stood the respected mother and wife, admiring her two favorite men in the entire world.

"Are you ready to come back to bed, dear?" asked Trisha, her peach lips looking scrumptious as ever.

Van blinked furiously and lied a hand on his throbbing head. "Ugh... I nearly fell asleep..." After removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, he got up to gently set the infant into his crib. He transferred his sight to Trisha, smiling for once in his bleak years of life.

Walking over to her and without words, he snaked an arm around her shoulder as they headed back to the comfort of their bedroom. On the way there, Trisha thought, _'I'm glad... He's finally letting himself be touched... And opening up to our son. No more monsters will live here. Not anymore...'_

**_F i n_**


	3. November 15, 1889

**Brief Summary: **Van has to re-paint the house; Prego!Trisha figures this will be a good bonding experience between him and nine-month-old Ed.

**Disclaimer:** I promise I will put Arakawa-sensei's toys back — just as soon as I'm done playing with them.

**A/N: **And here I pronounce the third one-shot of the _Catching the Monster_ series! Isn't this exciting~? I don't have much to say in this author's note, except that I hope I'm not getting OOC with anyone in these one-shots. If I am, please clarify it to me. So let's get crackin'!

* * *

><p><strong><em>A Series of Papa!Hoho &amp; Little!Edo One-shots;<em>**

**_C _**_a t c h i n g **T **h e **M** o n s t e r_

_~u~_

"Well... Looks like it's just you and me, buddy." Hohenheim sat on a hefty log next to his adoring son, both of them getting a clear view of the Elric home. Such a house was perfect for raising a child; not too big, not too small, not too dangerous or risky, and in the best location of a grassy plane. However, the walls outside were in desperate need for a paint job.

Trisha should've been an interior decorator. Every inch of the house had to be kept neat, the furniture had to be in the correct spots, the inside had to be _welcoming_ for guests, and nothing, absolutely _nothing_, could be worn-down or over-aged. Hohenheim had to practically check the pipes constantly, and make sure things such as the kitchen sink, bath, toilet, and lights were in tip top shape. Granted, he was no Rockbell engineer, but he still could put his hands to great use when he wanted to.

Not only that, but Trisha spent half her time gardening. Her little garden outside at the side of the house had to be astonishingly _perfect_. The flowers must be categorized by color, that way they 'compliment' each other. Also, no flower could out-size the other. She watered the plants to a precise measurement of both h2O and sun. One thing that has been bothering her for months now, however, was the exterior walls of the house.

The off-white paint became more and more musky with the passing years. It was chipped, cracked, and apparently, not to Trisha's standards. She wasn't a high maintenance type of woman, but when it came to her home-sweet-home, everything needs to be flawless.

There was one more thing. Trisha, four months pregnant with their second child (and just barely showing), was leaving the house to go visit the Rockbells. They had conceived their daughter not too long ago, and she was growing just as rapidly as their own son. It was insane how an infant can look so different and learn to do new things in such a short period of time. Edward could even take steps, now. His amber hair was more luscious, in fact _so_ luscious that they had to give him a haircut approximately four times in ten weeks.

Every morning, Hohenheim woke up and wandered to his son's crib. Every morning, his son grew older and older and older. It was breathtaking... And saddening. This gloom made him remember why he couldn't get too attached to little Eddie. This gloom was also why his wife insisted he re-paint the house that day, keeping Ed with him, in hope that it would become a good bonding experience.

The grown man patted Ed's hairy, brilliant head, earning a giggle in response from the little boy as they sat side-by-side on the wooden log. Around Van's head, was a mint green handkerchief to keep his ferocious strands of hair out of the way. On his dry, calloused hands, was some heavy-duty brown gloves. Ed simply had a bright blue tee-shirt and little beige capris on, along with some mini cocoa booties protecting his feet. His porcelain legs dangled off of the log, and he seemed to be having fun kicking them into the air gleefully.

"Something's missing," Hohenheim observed the child, chin in his palm. "Hmm..."

Next to him was a dirty, but useful red handkerchief. He picked it up thoughtfully, turned to Ed, and wrapped it around the crown of his head. Yes, maybe the boy needed a little style if he was going to help Hohenheim paint. Ed drifted his hands to his crown, patting the bloody cloth in a curious fashion.

Now it was time to commence painting. Hohenheim dipped the bristles of a brush into the fresh white paint — it smelt of daises and mint — and make the first clean stroke upon a the house's wall. He continued this for what seemed like forever. Pretty soon, his arm cramped up in knots.

"_Mrrrgg..._" he grunted in spite of himself, rubbing his flailing bone. "I'd think that my arm would be able to keep up with the rest of my body..."

There was a point where he had to climb up on a ladder to reach certain spots. Sure, he could use alchemy, but he tried to cut back on such an unnecessary pleasure. Little Eddie looked upward at his father in wonder, planting a small index finger within his moist maw. Whatever the man was doing fascinated him.

The ladder began to violently shake. Hohenheim's eyes popped from their sockets, as he clung to the rail in desperate shock. When the its legs gave out, he plundered to the grassy ground with an, "_Ommph!_"

Little Eddie let the fallen ladder out of his grasp. The first thing 'ol Hohenheim saw as he shoved his eyelids open? His crisp-headed son with a finger between two lips.

"Papa?" Ed got out through that high-pitched voice-box of his. "Papa!"

Groaning, the bearded man pinched the bridge of his nose in fatigue. That child was a riot. Even so, he let out a small deep chuckle for acknowledgment. "Yes, Edward. I'm papa. And papa's not gonna live very long if you keep—" His sentence turned into a grunt when he attempted to sit up. "—trying to kill him."

No matter how ironic that sounded, naive Ed hadn't the slightest idea of the former slave's body... Nor could he ever come to comprehend it.

Ed clapped both hands with light giggles, his miniature knees bouncing up and down. It was amazing how well he could move around on two feet for such a young age. Doctors called it fortuitous. Trisha called it a miracle.

"How about we get you some lunch," suggested Hohenheim, staggering up to head towards the house. He picked up Ed swiftly using one arm, while the other plopped the paint brush back into its can.

It was rare that the man came into contact with his son, but in cases where Trisha was not around, he had no other choice. Entering the kitchen, he knew he was no cook, so luckily, Ed had a can of baby food waiting for him in the pantry. Sadly, the boy was stubborn whenever he had to eat that stuff — _especially _the peas and carrots flavor. Hohenheim spent minutes trying to shove the jelly substance down Ed's throat, only to get a blob of pea/carrot goo spit at his face.

After a long day's work, Hohenheim stretched his core muscles with an audible, grizzly yawn. He looked at the freshly-painted white house with pride in his gleaming topaz eyes. Trisha was going to be so glad...

Little Eddie scampered away to the thick log his father settled on. The boy's lips curled from ear-to-ear. He had paint smeared on his face, encrusted in his hair, and warped into the material of his clothing. Now _that_ was something Trisha _wouldn't _be so glad about. Van could just imagine his wife bickering to herself as she had to scrub out the white crusty stains.

The sun was just barely setting. The sky was filled with frivolous colors — making it appear as a gigantic fruit bowl. This took affect on the father and son's warm crowns and blinders, both enhanced with gold from the showy sunset.

Somehow, the boy that was barely a year old still had energy in his puny body. "You really _are_ trying to kill your old man..." Hohenheim disgruntled to his dismay. "I should probably clean you up before Trisha gets home... She'll have a fit."

Once again snatching Ed up in his gloved hands, he carried him inside with the smell of mint and grass buzzing in their nostrils. Later on, by the time Hohenheim had bathed him and dressed him in pajamas, the golden boy insisted on going outside when he kept on giggling and running to the door, whimpering like a puppy that had to go potty.

Obeying, Hohenheim gathered a blanket and storybook before they exited the front entrance. He figured that in a split second, Ed would leave his hyper-mode and automatically grow sleepy. Every trudging footstep outside created a _crunch_ in the grass. While the son's steps were light and whimsical, the father's steps were heavy and rhythmical. Hohenheim spread out the ocean blue blanket, settled himself underneath the stars, then stretched his broad arms out to catch Ed from tripping when he recklessly spun in circles.

"Papa!" he called as he lied flat down next to the man. Then, he mumbled something that sounded like, "Book!", and pointed rapidly toward the storybook in between them.

Van scrunched his eyebrows in understanding and glanced to the cover. It did not say the title on the front, though the appearance itself showed it all. That book was pure red with shining gold trimmings; on the surface, was an outline of a golden bunny. When Van opened to the first page, the introduction title was on display.

_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

_Lewis Carroll_

In all honesty, Hohenheim had his doubts as to if this even _was_ a children's story. He had read it once, and there are far too subliminal messages and twisted characters in such a tale. Nevertheless, Ed seemed to take a liking to it whenever Trisha read Lewis Carroll's work to him.

Hohenheim pushed the thin glasses up to the bridge of his nose, and began reading:

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it. 'And what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversation?'..."

Ed curled up in his spot, becoming giddy as each word flew by. He understood half of it, but didn't bother to ask whenever a big word came his way... Like 'conversation'. Keep in mind that Ed isn't even twelve months, so this novel was a bit out of his league. Yet somehow, it had him intrigued — as well as Hohenheim himself, who wondered just how well little Eddie could follow the story.

Grunting, Hohenheim had enough of this tale. And Truth knows why he decided to do so, but the words came flowing from his mouth... He couldn't stop it...

Eyes on the novel, he became completely and utterly ignorant of the text printed on the page. Pretending to read out of the book, Hohenheim let a few sentences flow of his own...

"...Centuries ago, upon a time when monarchy still ruled the streets, was a kingdom thriving from humanity itself. Some called it the ancient ruins... Some called it a third world. Others called it an investigation site... to learn history and teach it to our future generations. However, it is most infamously called, 'Xerxes'..."

The story went on while the night was young. Slave number twenty-three... The homunculus in the flask... Creating the world's first Philosopher's Stone... And the good thing about all of this, was that months from now, Edward would forget. He wouldn't know his father was a monster... Not quite yet.

In the middle of a sentence, Hohenheim's ears perked up at a small snore. His eyes left the book. There little Eddie was, curled up with a fist full of blanket, while his eyelids were shut in a blissful fashion. All was right. What could be wrong?

With that, he scooped up Ed and took him back to the house. Hohenheim considered his son to be lucky. Lucky because he would never hear the man's tragic back-story after this night... Nevermore. Slave twenty-three was long gone, now.

...And the rest was history.

_**F i n**_


	4. July 11, 1900

**Brief Summary: **Ed is frightened of the monsters in the basement... Naturally, his father tries to convince him that nothing is there.

**Disclaimer: **Non, je n'ai possèdent pas un FullMetal Alchemist. Je t'aime!

**A/N: **This is the fourth one-shot. I am so proud of how far I'm getting with this... :'D Actually, in geology class I just watched a video on Pompeii (the volcanic eruption that buried an entire city in ash around A.D. 79), and the society it portrayed reminded me of Xerxes!Hohenheim. xDD

Additionally, I would like to bring up that I am going to be on summer break in a few weeks. This means more fics. I will have plenty of time to sit my lazy ass in front of the computer, typing wondrous stories beyond one's imagination. O_o Lately, of course, school has been holding me back, especially with finals the last week. But no worries~! I ensure you that I shall write some Ed/Winry, Roy/Riza one-shots, etc. If the English dub for Brotherhood ends this summer, then I will write my first ACCOMPLISHED chapter post-manga/brohood story. Check out my profile; I explain my future projects on there.

* * *

><p><strong><em>A Series of Papa!Hoho &amp; Little!Edo One-shots;<em>**

**_C _**_a t c h i n g **T **h e **M** o n s t e r_

_~u~_

_Sniffle. Sniffle. _The noise repeated itself for monotonously. A tiny, delicate noise that exposed weak vulnerability. The newest member of the Elric family, Alphonse Elric, wasn't much of a crybaby. However, in the days he was doomed with the flu, crying was the only sound made throughout the halls. When he wasn't sobbing and screeching, he was sniffling with a clear fluid that secreted from his little nostrils. Trisha, in the front room while rocking him on the plush chair, had to constantly grab new tissues and wipe the substance from his crimson nose.

Sara told her this was normal. Babies were prone to illness and germs in the very first months of their birth. Even so, Trisha couldn't help but dawn down on her second-born son with worry in her warm eyes.

"He'll be alright, dear," Hohenheim assured, sitting across from her with a textbook in his masculine, calloused hands. "You can trust the Doctor Rockbells' with their word."

"I know... It's just—..." The woman sighed, her face much more ivory than usual. She really needed to not stress over her boys' health. When Edward was still an infant, she did the same exact thing.

Baby Alphonse could barely open his eyes, but when he did, they were two glossy pools of dark sand. Trisha reached out for another tissue and dabbed his puffy nose.

Eventually, she proclaimed, "This didn't happen with Edward. The first time he came about with the flu was at nine months. I _want_ to believe what Sara said but—... Oh! Look, Van!" Trisha held their ill child to face his father.

With Al's irritated eyes clasped shut, he opened his salivating mouth to flash a gummy smile. His mother seemed to overact whenever he smiled from ear-to-ear... Hohenheim, however, found it fascinating. Even being overcome with a flu he couldn't grasp, Al still managed a gesture of kindness in his lips. He seemed like the 'smiling' baby, whereas his brother was the 'developed-early-boy-genius' baby.

Just when Van opened his mouth to say something, a tiny herd of footsteps trailed down the hall and into the front room. The parents averted their eyes to a form appearing in behind them. There Ed was — face scrunched, tears forming in his blinders, blood rising to his cheeks and nose.

"Ed, honey? What's wrong?" Trisha didn't have enough energy to get up and comfort the little boy, plus she didn't want to disturb Al and cause him to sob again. So, she just gave Ed a sympathetic stare with all the comfort she could muster.

His lips were in a thin line, quivering. "M—Mommy... I... s—saw... a... a... m—mun—s—steeeer..." He managed to stutter through a closed throat.

"Monster?" Trisha responded in a soft, at-ease tone. "Where, honey?"

The little boy pointed down the hall with a shaky finger, sucking in small breaths through the teeth that had just came in.

"Oh, my..." Her perfect chestnut eyebrows pushed together. "Van, dear? Will you go see what Ed is talking about? I have to stay here until Al falls asleep..." Sadly. One thing that Trisha hated most was not being able to attend her son when he needed it. To chase away his fears. But hey, that's what being a mom of two was all about. You had to make sacrifices.

Mister Hohenheim nodded precariously and tossed his book to the side. Getting up in a grumbling manner, he tottered over to his elder son. Edward clung to his pant leg as he led his father down the hallway. They eventually arrived to the entrance of the basement door.

"Here?" Hohenheim asked, pointing at the door in front of them. Supposedly it was expected that children were afraid of basements, but even so...

Ed bobbed his head in a nodding fashion, his hand balled in a fist and covering his mouth. This was strange. Not once in the past year of the child's life had he shown fear. Hohenheim sincerely thought he was a trooper. Why? Because there were so many things to be afraid of in this world.

He squatted down to face the phobic boy, his wealthy eyebrows knitting together. "There's nothing to be afraid of down there, boy. It's just a room," is what he explained to the pre-toddler.

"Nmmm!" That pre-toddler exclaimed with a wince, shaking his head furiously in disapproval. Whatever he saw down there, he must've been sure that he had seen it.

Hohenheim let out a long suppressed sigh. He knew it would take more than assurance to convince little Eddie that nothing was in that room beneath the house. "Fine. I'll go down there and show you. You don't have to come if you feel uncomfortable." Just as quickly as he smiled, he let it escape his lips as the lenses of his glasses blurred, turning around to twist the doorknob.

The door moaned against its hinges as Hohenheim took his first steps down the staircase. His leather feet clamped down on each individual platform, while his young son continued to stare down the dark pathway from the entrance, not daring to enter, yet not daring to leave.

Once Mr. Hohenheim arrived to his wanted destination, he flipped on the switch, causing the basement to go from pitch black, to flooding with clear light. The area was basically filled with dim concrete walls, stacks of his most private research, experimental bottles for chemistry, some books, and a few large suits of armor hanging on the wall (all designed by him), including only one suit of armor — a bright silver, spiky-armed one with a feather handing from the head — finished. The rest were half-done, just like his uncompleted research and formulas.

Ever since his sons were born, Hohenheim really hasn't had time in the basement. Sure, he still went in his study-room every day, but the den beneath the house had been neglected. The forty-year-old-appearing man stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking around to subtly glance at every object.

"Edward!" he hollered after a few minutes of lazy inspecting. "There's nothing—"

Just then, the light bulb flickered out. Wow. That is the worst of luck. There he was, in the middle of a broad basement, standing in pure darkness.

_'Damn it,_' he thought in a scolding manner_. 'How could I forget to switch out the light bulb?' _

Hohenheim took a few precarious steps backward until he ungracefully stumbled, causing a hard object to plow on his body. He held in any curses and let out a yodel of surprise, loosing his balance as the object not only knocked him over, but surrounded his head with a metal bowl — something that almost felt like a helmet. Now he _really _couldn't see. Plus the headache and possible concussion.

"Papa!" called little Eddie from the top of the stairs, hearing the deep yelp. With every ounce of courage he had, Ed took a few steps down the stairs, his topaz eyes sending deep into the cavernous void. He begun to sniffle like his sick little brother, except it was out of fear. "Paa... Paaa..."

Groaning, Hohenheim attempted to get up, shoving the seven-foot suit of armor off of his body. He still had the helmet on his head, however. Every thing was spinning. He moved forward in a dizzy state.

"Papa?" The child's tiny voice shirked into a tinier sound as he eyed a shadowy figure approach him. "P-Pa..."

"Mrrrrnnn..." the elder man grunted once again. He sounded of a grizzly bear.

Once the devil's metal helmet came into view, Ed turned pale as his eyes crystallized and widened with shock.

_"EEEEYYYYAAAAAAAAHHHHH_!"

His limbs were frozen in petrified fear. He looked up to the giant, intimidating demon (known as his father) with melted ice gathering in each tremulous eye. Oh no, he was going to cry.

"Nn—mmph—... Ed—ward...?" The demon's voice was still groggy with pain and deliriousness. Plus the helmet did no justice to the kindness and confusion of his tone.

Pointing a trembling figure at his disguised dad, Ed winced lightly with tears bursting from his eyes, "M—M—_Munsteeerrr..._"

The man blinked repeatedly from underneath the metal mask. He was now gaining consciousness. Monster? "Son, wai—" Taking a couple more steps forward, he was startled to see that his little boy begun to scream, pleading for the 'monster' to leave him alone. In that, Edward ran his chubby little legs up the stairs, sobbing to his fullest content.

Stretching out his arm, Hohenheim wanted to chase after the boy. But it was no use. He was probably crying in Trisha's lap by now.

The events happened in slow motion. They replayed like a broken record, sending through images of black and white. The lights going out, the clumsy fall, the suit of armor pinning him to the ground, the throbbing fatigue afterward, and lastly, his son... tears trailing down his cheeks, complete and utter fright in his gaze; his finger pointing at the man in such a disconnected fashion, as he slapped a label on Van Hohenheim. Just that one harsh, bitter word. The loathing that seared his tongue as he said it. Just that one word had Hohenheim's soul shatter into bits.

_Monster._

Slowly, Van lowered his arm and stood there at the bottom of the stair case — as still as death. Granted, these were the words of a one-year-old shrieking in fear. They didn't mean anything, right? He is just a toddler.

...Right?

Alas, this is the thing Hohenheim was most afraid of. He fretted that this was going to happen. And it did. It wasn't just a nightmare, but a real event. The single issue, though, was that Hohenheim believed he _was_ a monster. That alone ate him away for centuries.

All of those souls. He knew every single one of them. Back in the days of Xerxes, they were all so clear with their bright, innocent smiles, golden freckles, golden hair, and golden irises. They were now slopping red. Every time he looked at his skin, he saw their faces. On good days, he saw their smiles. On bad days, he saw their moans and twisted expressions fused with one crimson stone.

The dark was silent; yet so obnoxiously loud. It reminded him that he was so alone, even with a sprouting family. Finally finding the strength in his limbs, Hohenheim took a few hazy steps out of the basement. Why did those few words hurt him so dearly?

To be honest, his darling son couldn't be more correct. No matter how hard he tried to be a human... No matter how hard he tried to be a loving father-figure... In the end, he'd always be a fowl creature made of screaming faces. A monster.

**_ F i n_**


	5. May 5, 1903

****Brief summary: ****"Don't say that she doesn't love you..." A father's role is more important than we think.****  
><strong>**

**Disclaimer: **Arakawa completely owns FullMetal, including the script to this brilliant short story. I just wrote it out and added a few things of my own.**  
><strong>

**A/N: **Bonjour~ So, I went to Barnes and Nobles one day (in case some of you don't know, it's a bookstore). I scanned through the FullMetal mangas, and finally picked one of my choosing. It was vol. 14, and at the end of it, was a short story that Arakawa had added. It reminded me so much of the one-shots I was doing on here, that I _had _to write it out. Great Papa!Hoho and Little!Edo love here *heart* Sorry it took so long to post!

* * *

><p><strong><em>A Series of Papa!Hoho &amp; Little!Edo One-shots;<em>**

**_C _**_a t c h i n g **T **h e **M** o n s t e r_

_~u~_

"_BWAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!_"

The ear piercing, wood splitting noise filled the entire Elric estate. It scared birds from their nests; it made any passerby cringe. The little lungs that belted this sound went raspy for a few seconds, then became strong again. Tiny fists clenched and unclenched, while red nostrils were flooded with running liquid, as were the crimson glossy eyes that were squeezed tight — a river of hot tears flowing from them. Saliva bubbled in the toddler's mouth. His countenance was twisted — brows knitting, and lips quivering.

"_Oh!_ Ed!" Trisha came barging into the room, when she had been searching for the source of the sobs. Her chestnut eyebrows furrowed, a bead of sweat forming at her hairline. "You're being mean to Al again!"

There stood four-year-old Edward, pounding the cover of a book against his three-year-old brother's head.

"_WAAAAAAHHHH!" _Alphonse wept, sitting in a helpless ball as his toddler-sized overalls enhanced the look of innocence.

This look didn't fool his elder brother, however. Edward kept the same stern expression on his face — lips pursed, vein throbbing at his forehead, eyes stubborn. He didn't feel the least bit guilty.

"Come here, Al." The mother of two outstretched her arms. The sobbing child ran to her, clinging to her dress. She then cooed, "There, there..."

Just when she looked to Ed with concern, the blonde flipped around, his back to her. He wasn't going to talk. In that, he was the most stubborn child of existence.

Trisha inquired with a sigh, "Honestly, Ed. Why must you be so mean to him?" After a pause, her eyes were on Al, rubbing his sandy head with care. "What am I going to do with your big brother...?" Her palm ran past a certain area on his crown, causing her to suppress another sigh. "Oh no, there's a bump..."

Her gaze went back to the elder child, whom was keeping his distance. The same bratty expression was worn on his fresh face.

"Ed, it's your job to _protect _your little brother. Now apologize to Al."

For the first time, Alphonse finally met eyes with the other golden-haired child. Dribble was still seeping from his tiny nose, his tiny fists still clinging to his mother's sleeve, and the waterworks still forming in his eye sockets. His chubby cheeks pouted, while his crisp brows lowered. Anyone to see that face should feel sorrow, but of course, little Eddie felt none.

In a split second, he ran toward Al and slammed his palm against the boy's scalp. Another slap. Trisha gasped and blinked in shock.

"_WAAAAAHHHHH!_" little Al wailed in a near-scream, ready to throw a tantrum.

In reaction, Edward fled the room, dashing out the door with balled hands.

"GET BACK HERE, ED!" the woman scolded. She didn't bother chasing him, but mentally swore that she'd lecture him later during supper. "YOU APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW!"

_~c~_

Time passed. The hallways of the quint house were desolate; empty. The cries and sobs had stopped. Now, the only apparent noise was silence. Edward crouched against the wall, arms pulling his knees to his chest as he pouted endlessly.

"Why does Al get all the attention?" he muttered to himself. "Momma's so unfair..."

His bloodied cheeks puffed outward, while his mouth tightened into a thin line. "She likes Al more than me... I know it!"

There was a weird feeling... like someone was watching him. Two golden eyes, hidden by a pair of light-glared glasses lenses, peered out from the bathroom door. Edward slowly looked over to the side, getting an odd sensation from the irises gawking at him.

Hohenheim sat on the toilet, his trousers to his ankles. In his meaty hands was an opened newspaper. Though his vision returned to the text, he couldn't help but keep on listening to his first-born son's venting rants.

"Momma always takes Al's side..." Ed continued, in spite of the near presence of his father. "...She's always saying, 'You're his big brother,' or 'You're bigger than him, so you have to let him have the toy,'..."

Alas, his face softened, turning into a melancholy expression rather than anger. "I'm sure mom hates me..."

Van's eyes hardened, a slight frown hanging on his lips. In the newspaper, there was some story about an update on the Ishbalan war. But that wasn't the reason for his frown...

His irises averted from the paper and landed on a certain object parallel to him. With a _klak_, he grasped a metal handle and creaked the door open just slightly.

"Edward," he caught the boy's attention. "As punishment for being mean to Alphonse... stand up and hold this bucket." He shoved the water-filled bucket out the door and toward Ed.

"Huh?" Ed's orbs widened, face paling in confusion.

"Here," said Hohenheim, his arm sticking out of the bathroom door. He then ordered in a fatherly manner, "Stand there until I say you can stop."

Grasping hold of the bucket's handle, Ed whined, "_Awwww!_ But it's _heavy!_"

When no response came, he looked forward, eyes narrowing in concentration. He used all of his non-existing muscles in attempt to pull up the bucket. His teeth gritted; more and more sweat escaped his pores. The four-year-old gave it everything he had, but the damned thing just wouldn't lift. There was no use...

_Clank!_

Hohenheim's head perked up at the noise. With a creaking of the bathroom door, he peeked around the corner to see what had happened. Curled up in a ball like he had before, there sat Ed, an aggravated frown set upon his features. The bucket sat about a foot away from him.

"What? You quit already?" Hohenheim perched an amber brow.

"Hmph!" Ed twisted his head away. "It's heavy! I can't hold it."

The elder man reclined back on the toilet, disappearing from view. Worry lines and winkles were formed on his forehead. "I see. So you just gave up, huh?"

A long pause filtered the hallway and bathroom. In fact, the air was so still that the water became stagnant in its container.

"That bucket..." Hohenheim finally spoke, "...weighs about the same as a baby."

Ed's face muscles were let loose. He gave up being arrogant and peered over to the cracked door.

His father continued, "You weighed that much when you were born. Trisha had to carry that heavy weight in her tummy for _months_. You gave up right away... but your mom carried you and kept you safe until you were born. She would've never done that if she hated you..."

The child's face was struck with bewilderment. Those vibrant topaz orbs of his were as round as a watermelon. They grew even wider as Hohenheim added, "...So don't say she doesn't love you."

_~c~_

"Let's have stew for dinner tonight," Trisha suggested with a bright smile, strolling down the hallway with a basket full of laundry in her hands. Alphonse followed her like a lost puppy, droll hanging from his mouth as he thought of stew: roasted to perfection. All of a sudden, something stopped them in their tracks.

Edward stood before them, blocking the path. His lips were still pinched like they had been an hour ago. Oh no, here comes trouble.

"Big bruda?" His little brother looked to him with confusion. Nevertheless, Trisha acted as if there was nothing abnormal going on.

"Ed. For dinner we're having—..." Just as she began to speak, the Xerxes-blooded child took large strides toward them.

He raised his palm into the air, ready for expected attack on Alphonse. The younger toddler flinched, tugging on his mother's dress with tremulous lips.

"Edward! Stop this right now!" Mrs. Elric shouted, knowing what was to come.

The inner surface of his hand landed on Al's head at last. The younger Elric brother clenched his eyelids shut, ready for impending pain. However... there was no... hitting. Edward simply scuffled Alphonse's hair around in friendly, loving motions. No slaps, no hits at all. Just a gentle petting of the head.

For the second time that day, Trisha couldn't believe her eyes. Was this a silent apology? Before she or Al knew it, Ed trotted away with courageous steps.

It was then that Al thought to himself, _'Big bruda patted my head...?'_

Trisha tapped an index finger on her chin in wonder. Her sights then ventured ventured to the room next to her, where the hung sign said 'Toilet'.

"Honey, you said something to Ed, didn't you?" She walked up to the bathroom door with a sly smile on her features.

"No, I didn't..." Hohenheim lied in response. He didn't want to take the gratification for this. Sitting on the toilet like he had for an eternity, he still grasped the newspaper in his hands. Suddenly, something dawned on him. "Oh, that's right. I forgot to ask Ed—"

Raising his voice to a higher volume, he requested, "Can you get me some toilet paper... Trisha?"

"Yes, dear."

Until the stars were out in the sky, that bucket remained by the bathroom, its water glimmering with brilliance. A father's role is more important than we think.

_**F I N**  
><em>


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